Mists of time
by Tali1
Summary: Trunks gets lost in the woods, where he is found by a handsome, mysterious young man...


"Mists of time"

It hadn't been a good day so far for Trunks Briefs, future head of Capsule Corp. and its scientists, and nothing indicated that anything was going to change the bad situation he was in into anything other than "worse". Cursing under his breath, he collapsed on foot of a giant oak, which stood on the edge of one of those endless, thrice-damned woods, which seemed to cover every spot in this country not inhabited by men.

The rain, which had poured down during the last two hours, had finally ceased, and a small beam of sunlight appeared through waning clouds over the nearest mountain, but Trunks didn't have eyes for the strange but wild beauty that was surrounding him. His ankle was throbbing painfully in his heavy boots, and he was thinking hard if he should try and pull the shoe off, investigating if his limb was broken or just sprained. And all the while, he was silently blaming his misfortune on everyone who came into his mind: his mother who just had to 'get away from all this stress and _really_ do a vacation this time', his future bride -- nice and mousy enough to stifle every trace of desire in him at the roots but with a fortune of several million zeni and a mind which overran sometimes even that of his mother -- who just had to 'show him around in such untouched land as this -- so lovely and inspiring!', or this idiot of a telecommunications technician. "Who just wasn't able to find a cell phone that would work in this godforsaken country," muttered Trunks as he shook the water out of the borrowed mobile phone he had pulled from his back pocket.

He sighed and stood up, balancing his weight on his left foot and holding onto the rough bark for support and cast a look around, for the first time taking in the great sight around him. Moss was steaming, also the woods around and on the mountains below him, and finally, the lavender-haired man realized that he was miles away from every human being and the thought left him speechless and frightened. How was he going to get home...?

"May I help you, kind sir?"

Trunks flinched and spun around, momentarily forgetting about his sprained ankle, but in an instant reminded as hot, searing pain shot through his leg up into his spine and left him gasping for breath. His leg was giving out under him and, digging his fingernails into the oak's bark, he tried to hold himself up. But, suddenly, his weight was lifted as a stranger wrapped his arm around Trunks' waist and was holding him in a secure grip.

"Please do not get a false impression of me, sir. It is not usual for me to impose myself upon strangers." A quiet voice was whispering near Trunks' ear, and he found himself falling into the soft, underlying rhythms, the tiny laughter, which was swinging in every syllable. The man pushed him softly downwards, and Trunks found himself instinctively following the new movement and came to rest again at the old tree's roots. He lifted his gaze and could for the first time get a look at the man, who had knelt down in front of him and smiled in a still genuine way, that was strangely unsettling to the purple-haired man.

"I lost my way," he said, not knowing, if he had only thought those words or actually spoken them aloud.

"I can see that much." If it was possible, but the stranger's voice had dropped a few degrees, reminded more and more of a cat's purr, then a human voice. "You look forlorn."

Trunks wanted to protest at those words. The Vice-President of Capsule Corp. didn't _look forlorn!_ It was years ago that Trunks hadn't known at least two steps ahead what he was going to do and say. But this, like a small part in his heart whispered, was an entirely different situation to everything he knew. Never before had he been alone, cut off from civilization, dignity, and power to survive in completely foreign surroundings.

His gaze returned from the soil back to the stranger's face, taking in the youthful and fair appearance of the other, lingering shortly on the soft lips, which were parted to let pearly teeth shine forth, wandering upwards to rosy-tinted cheeks, framed by unruly locks of dark hair, to meet with the other man's eyes-- And Trunks forgot how to breathe. Sparkling, laughing eyes shone from under heavy eyebrows, and building a stark contrast to the milky-white skin, they were the most prominent feature the older man was noticing. And although being the obviously older person, Trunks felt himself spellbound by those eyes, whose underlying quality left him with the vague feeling that this young man may had seen more ages then the tree against which he was currently leaning.

"Who are you?" he was finally able to whisper.

The other gazed up and smiled softly, finishing unlacing Trunks' boot without looking down, and pulled it gently over his injured limb. "I am a hunter and on a search for Athena and Aphrodite -- my falcons."

"Falcons...?" Trunks felt an odd sensation running through him as this young lad was softly touching his bare skin; it was only his ankle, but shivers were running up and down his whole body, and he wasn't sure if he was able to keep the shaking out of his voice.

"Yes. I use them for hunting smaller game like hares or foxes. You are lucky that they have gone astray in the heavy rain. Otherwise, I would not have walked your way."

With the mentioning of those animals, Trunks was suddenly aware that the other was wearing weird clothes: trousers and vest made of patch-worked leather, but barefooted and his hairless chest covered with an opened, silken shirt. He stared transfixed on a claw the falconer was wearing as an amulet and which was rising and falling softly with every breath he took. Up and down and up again...

A touch at his shoulder startled him, and he looked bewildered into brown eyes that were watching him almost frightened. "Are you otherwise injured than at your ankle?" the youth spoke, earnestly concerned. "Did you eat something you should not have? I know 'tis too early for belladonna to be ripe, but perhaps something else..."

"I haven't eaten anything since breakfast at my hotel," interrupted Trunks, causing the other to tilt his head questioningly.

"Breakfast... If I understand rightly, 'tis the usual morning meal for your folk?" Trunks didn't notice the unusual words the other had chosen, because he spoke further, and the lavender-haired man had problems to concentrate on the words again, being lulled again by the hunter's sweet, unearthly voice. "I fear that I have nothing with me fit for you to eat, but I know where a goat shepherd lives with his wife and family, and I will take you there if you can walk."

"Yeah...," answered Trunks dreamingly, only concerned that the other had stopped talking and that an answer was expected from him.

"Good!" The youth jumped up and startled him again by taking his hand and pulling him onto his feet. "Try not to use your right foot and lean on me." Trunks felt a strong arm slide around his waist and hold him in a secure grip.

Their walk through the woods was something Trunks would remember for the rest of his life as one of his most unreal and dreamlike experiences. He had to get accustomed to the feel of wet earth, dead leaves, and grass under his feet at first, but then he felt how those sensations seemed to caress his skin, rather then pierce it. His ears seem to sharpen for the soft sounds of the evening wood around him, soft rustling and whispering in the dense shrubbery. The forest seemed almost alive by itself, breathing and talking, and Trunks felt protected by its presence.

During their walk the hunter was surprisingly quiet, never talking unless he had to point out hindrances on the way, and Trunks found himself strangely missing the other man's voice. It was not that he was missing feeling mushy and stupid as soon the other was opening his mouth, but now, as he was so silent, the younger man had an air around him that was harsher, almost hard, to Trunks' feeling, and the Vice-President thought for the first time about that the other wasn't all nice and lovely but could be cruel and vicious also, just as nature was. And maybe, he thought, one had to be this way if they wanted to survive out here: Develop a side that helped someone and another side that killed other living beings for their own welfare, just like Trunks had to be cold and calculating sometimes to keep Capsule Corp in business. So it was due to Trunks to keep them entertained during their walk. He told the stranger about his work at Capsule Corp, about the places and countries he had already seen, and he told him about his bride, whom he intended to marry on a midsummer's day, two weeks from then.

After what was around an hour of walking -- or in Trunks' case, limping -- the way in front of them was getting considerably brighter, and they could see that they were nearing just another clearing or edge, as the hunter pulled him to a soft halt. Turning in his grasp, Trunks became suddenly nervous, his guts twisting as he saw that the other was avoiding his gaze and chewing his lower lip. The older man followed his look and saw a small hut with something like an orchard show through the thin line of trees. He could actually spot a well and something like tomatoes growing near the house. Some goats and sheep were gathered on a pastorage from which damp grass soft mists were rising as the summer's day was drawing to its end.

"I am called Goten."

"Huh?" Trunks looked back, but found the other still looking away from him.

"I do not recall having introduced myself earlier. Am I mistaken? 'Twas... only a matter of formality, was it not?" The young man -- Goten, as Trunks had to remind himself -- was blushing lightly, but more so softly fidgeting as if he was frightened.

"What--"

"You see, we must part, now. I am not on good terms with the other folk around here, and I--" He stopped and slid his arm away from Trunks' hip where it had rested during their stop, and Trunks found himself missing the touch. "I must bid you farewell, Trunks," finished Goten somewhat lamely. He blushed even more and took a step back.

The lavender-haired male couldn't remember having ever told the hunter his name, but somehow, he'd known it, only continuing to add to the mysterious qualities of the other man. Completely at a loss at what to say, Trunks stood dumbfounded and waited for what Goten wanted to tell him.

"I have never seen someone like you, Trunks," he whispered and took a step towards Trunks again. They were standing next to each other again, their faces mere inches away from touching. "You lead an interesting life -- a life someone like me could never endure -- but I will never forget you." Goten was leaning nearer, now. Trunks could feel his sweet breath on his skin, making it prickle but he was too occupied by the millions of butterflies he had suddenly in his stomach. Goten surely wasn't going to--

Loud barking, followed by crude shouting, made them flinch and back away from each other. The bushes ten feet away were rustling and out of it shot a black shepherd's dog with an old man hot on its heels.

"Who are you?!" barked the man and pulled his dog back from Trunks at its collar, but seeing that he had backed away into the next tree and was white as a sheet, the old shepherd added more politely. "It is not good being in this woods after sundown, Mister..."

"Briefs," answered Trunks. "And with me is..." He turned around to indicate towards his young saviour, but to his distress, Goten was gone without a trace. "Where...!? Goten? Goten!"

"Who was with you, sir? Maybe I know him..." The shepherd eyed Trunks with renewed suspicions.

"A young hunter, dark hair, brown eyes?" Trunks described hopefully, but he was disappointed as the shepherd shook his head and took a step backwards.

"There are no hunters up in these wood, sir. I presume he had leather clothes on? And nothing made from steel with him?" Assured by Trunks' obvious surprise, he continued. "Sir, you have been obviously fooled by one of the wood-folk. I thought they would've been extinct during the raids in the middle-ages." He drew nearer again. "Beware of them, Mr. Briefs! They lead good people into their dens, and you will never see the sun again," his voice was barely a whisper by now, and he cast nervous looks around. "Don't ever eat or take anything from them; you will be spellbound to follow them wherever they go! The only way to break one of their spells is to call them by their name, but naturally they never tell them to anyone," sarcasm was lying under the old man's words. "But come on, now, into my house. There you can phone to the place where you're staying and get someone to fetch you from here."

Trunks followed him wordlessly. He was unsure about what to believe. Of course there wasn't anything like "fairies" or "wood-folk"! But the old man's words had hit terrifyingly close to reality, and Goten had been very frightened to tell him his name, hadn't he? Later that night, as Trunks was heading towards his hotel in a helicopter sent by his mother he surprised himself thinking that the whole occurrence could have been a dream... and nothing more. The young falconer had been so dreamlike after all, his appearance, his sudden vanishing. Wasn't it only dreams that could make someone feel so wondrous and strange afterwards?

But Goten had touched him, had made him feel alive and safe. And they had almost kissed... Did Trunks really want him to be a mere fantasy? And flying away over the black woods and misty mountains towards the pearl-like streams of light at the horizon Trunks found himself wishing he could be there again. In the woods, beneath the stars -- with Goten.

~*~ owari ~*~

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball and it's characters, I usually just borrow them and let them stumble home afterwards.

Dedications: To Deani Bean!! *huggles* For editing it and inspiring me. Don't have your head examined!! It's a good head. ;]


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